Snippets
by visheretowrite
Summary: a collection of thoughts in have floating around when things are a little too much to handle and I am restless.
1. Chapter 1

The thing Annabeth Chase marks her years by is how much dread she has.

How much the worry increases as she ages, how much the feeling in the pit of her stomach solidifies, and how much she feels like a coward when they need her.

It's not the happiest thing.

 _i._

The first time she remembers that feeling, she is staring at the new boy who has come to camp, as the green symbol glows over his head. She remembers what she has read, about the prophecy, and can't help but wince at the fact that this boy, this young boy, only has 4 more years left to live before it all comes crashing down. Only a little bit of time before everything shatters in his fingertips.

And although she hardly knows the boy, just the faintest remembrance of his name fluttering at the edges of her memory, she resolves, right there and then, that she will do everything possible in the world, to make sure that he is safe and that he is protected. Because he will save them all. And even though this boy, if the symbol floating above his head is anything to go by, is destined to be her mortal enemy, he is destined to fight a far worse enemy, and she knows, no matter what, that she will help him, no matter the cost.

 _ii._

The next time the feeling reappears, they're in the back of a van, animals crowded around them, the smell almost overpowering in its potency. She closes her eyes and lies down, ignoring his questioning and surprised look. She knows, she _knows_ that she shouldn't do this, shouldn't be friends with him, when all it will bring is heartbreak in the end. Heartbreak for being with this boy, yes, being friends with him, but she also knows he makes her feel this more intensely than anyone else had before.

The feeling is a little heavier in her stomach, and she knows that being friends with him, loving him like that, is too dangerous. And the creeping dread consumes her thoughts for the rest of the night.

 _iii._

The next time the feeling appears, she is still fresh-faced and young, and stares at him on the boat on the thickening sea, foam spraying up and over onto the deck. She's come so close to losing him, to never seeing him again, and the worry has becoming even worse. Now, every time she looks at him, into those green eyes, she thinks of almost nothing else, except for the inevitability of her losing his. The feeling in her stomach grows a little more painful, and a little colder, the cold hands creeping around her soul and squeezing it, sending shivers throughout her body.

But then he smiles, and says something stupid, and for a moment, she is able to breath just a little better, just a tad easier, because right here, and right now, this boy is her best friend, and this boy is still alive.

 _iv._

The next time, she is stuck holding up the sky as tears stream down her face, her hair dirty and ragged. She can't, she won't ever forgive herself if he comes for her, and dies, and she knows that he will. She knows this, because she would to the same thing and so much more for him. She when the weight is lifted off her, and she is forced to watch him take it for a goddess, the only thing that hurts more than her pain is the simple idea of losing him again.

How can she ever manage to face him like this, fear consuming her every idea, the simple thought of not being with him driving her crazy? This boy is so much more than just her best friend. He is her partner, her rock, and she knows that just as he makes he better, she makes him better. It's a little painful, but he is worth every bit of the pain, and so much more. And she will always fight by his side.

 _v._

This is the first time the dread takes on another meaning. Now it's not only the dread of losing him to a prophecy she can't ever hope to prevent. It's the dread of losing him to the girl with curls and red hair, green eyes and freckles. She has always felt secure, always felt safe in their friendship. And with that, that in jeopardy too, she's not sure how much more she can take.

She is just a plaything for the Fates to taunt, another helpless demigod for them to laugh at, cackling in her situation.

God, Aphrodite must _hate_ her. Now, it's not just pining over her best friend. It's pining over the boy she knows she can never have, the boy who she knows she loves, even at just fourteen. But she also knows that if she tells him she loves him, she'll start crying a year from now, when she loses him to a few rhyming words spoken 70 years ago. She'll lose him even more. And she can already feels like she's losing him to someone else. She feel likes he's already gone, even though the years have blurred by and there's still just one more left for her to suffer though. To worry incessantly about her best friend.

But he is always worth the pain.

 _vi._

This is the last time, she knows. The last time she will feel like this, because these are the last moments where she can feel like she can lose him. She is now less young, but still just a teenager. Still supposed to live out the rest of her life. But age doesn't define demigods. If she was as old as the things she had seen, she would not be alive, for she has seen horrors and witnessed more than one should ever do in a single lifetime. The feeling has now wrapped its cold tentacles around her heart, invaded her head, claimed her soul, and everyday, her mind is filled with thoughts about him, thoughts for him.

When they claim she is a hero, she wants to laugh. A hero? She is nothing more than the cowardly girl fated to live and lie, the cowardly girl who she knows she is better than, the cowardly girl who is too afraid to handle the heartbreak after she loses him, the heartbreak that comes before when he rejects her, and the heartbreak that comes after when he is gone.

The other boy, with the blonde hair and the blue eyes, never made her feel like this. Never made this feeling so strong. But she knows that is a good thing. Because loving only one person like this, it takes more out of her than she can ever fathom, enough energy to last a lifetime. Because losing bhim? That's painful enough.

But loving him? As Aphrodite would tell you, that just made it worse.

 _vii._

There has not been many moments in her life when the feeling as gone away. It did, for a few months, after she confessed once he survived. And knowing he was right there by her side, made the feeling shrink a little, made the cold worry turn a little warmer and melt away. Made the feeling a little better.

Then he had disappeared, and everything had crumbled before her eyes, and the feeling had returned once more. And then she had found him once again, but this time, the feeling didn't go away. It was just directed at more than one person now. Now she worries about everyone on this boat, even those who she doesn't know that well. Because if they are destined to fight together, then by gods, she will worry about them. She will worry about every single one of her friends until the day she dies.

But the feeling now, returns in full force, at the last bit of sunlight she has seen in a while turns smaller and smaller, as she falls into the blackness with her love, with her other half. And she can only hope, with him, that soon, the feeling will be gone.

Even if she has to die to make that happen.

 _viii._

An older, wiser Annabeth Chase does not mark her years by that feeling anymore. Instead, she marks it by people, the moment when she met her first friends, the moment where her friend became her best friend, the moment in which she knew he loved her, and the moment in which she makes another family.

Because, as this Annabeth Chase knows, having that feeling of dread in your stomach only means you've got something so good you'll do anything it takes to protect it.


	2. Seasons of Love

_**Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.~Edith Sitwell**_

 _ **WINTER**_

 _ **W**_ _hen in winter, their love is like the season outside. Full of fleeting kisses stolen from cold lips and frost atop eyelashes. People assume that winter is cold, unrelenting. But no one can deny the pleasure and wonder in seeing snowfall for the first time. Each snowflake unique, this is the season when Christmas, holidays, family, and all come together, celebrate what they have. The purest time of the year, the reason for specials on TV and radio._

 _ **I**_ _nviting, she places a gentle kiss on his cheek as he shrugs off his coat and hangs it up. Thier love is shown when they go shopping for their tree, when they bicker for perfect evergreen to grace their house. The fight culminates in getting a perfectly non-perfect tree. In winter, their love is playful, snarky, like when a fistful of snow is shoved down your back, and the desire for childish revenge takes hold, like when you were six years._

 _ **N**_ _ever can it be said they have never bickered. What people don't realize, bickering the sign of a sound relationship. Not arguing, but light hearted, passionate bickering. Winter is the perfect season for this. When they fight over inviting her friends over, he pulls her to him and places a fierce kiss on her are cold, waking him up. Winter is the season where we try to understand those around us. When we try to communicate to family and friends._

 _ **T**_ _repidation runs through him as she slowly unwraps his gift. It has to be perfect. Slowly unraveling the ribbon, she opens a perfect set of her favorite books. She hugs him tightly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Winter is the season of giving, where we must disregard ourselves and care for those who are around us. We must do everything to forget about us, because there is always someone less fortunate out there who needs our help._

 _ **E**_ _uphoria races through her as the ball drops. A new year, and new start. A clean slate. Winter is the season where we forget the past, where we leave behind our troubles and begin a new year with resolutions we don't intend to keep. He pulls her to him, kissing her as a new year begins, showing his love for her from the precise moment the year begins. We must learn to put our past behind us, for it is the only thing holding us back from reaching new heights._

 _ **R**_ _acing the clock, the months of winter slip by like water through fingertips. Winter is the season to cherish. To hold the things we love the most as close as we can to us. Winter is a season of full circles, the only season to start and end the year, the season that shows us nothing truly ends. Not even Mother Nature. Winter is the season of only beginnings, for there is no true end in life. Things change, they evolve, but nothing truly ends. Like love, winter grows._

 _ **In the springtime, the only pretty ring time,**_

 _ **when birds do sing,**_

 _ **sweet lovers do love the spring~William Shakespeare**_

 _ **SPRING**_

 _ **S**_ _he runs through the meadow, her dress whirling around the blossoming flowers and stalks. She reaches out to him through the field, and he catches up to her, swinging her up in the air before setting her back down on the ground, his hands still at her waist. Spring is the season of hope. When things grow. The time when children put away their boots and take out their bikes. Spring is the perfect season for the beginning of love, for it is the season of life._

 _ **P**_ _erhaps they should never have met. Tears stream down her face as she shoves herself away from him, burying her face in her hands. Strong arms wrap around her, she makes no move to push them away. Muttering an apology, he drops a kiss to her head and grips her tighter. She burrows into his shirt and breathes in his scent. Spring is the time for forgiveness, when love is the most passionate, for it is when healing can be done, things can be fixed._

 _ **R**_ _eceiving his kiss, she turns her cheek in sudden shyness, yet he only smiles and hugs her tightly, before releasing her. She plucks a flower from at her feet, and tucks it in the pocket of his jacket, rising herself up in tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His eyes smile as he turns and walks away, his fingers lightly grasping hers until the last moment. Spring is the season of happiness in love. Where we lie on the grass, looking at the sky and wondering what could happen._

 _ **I**_ _nstinctively, he strums the guitar, the pure chord piercing the air. She looks up from her spot on the couch, and goes to sit beside him, tucking her hair behind her ear. He takes her hand, and shows her where to place her fingers. She presses down, and he strums. Playing together, music flows around them. Spring is the season of music in love. Chirping birds, sunlight so bright it makes a sound. When the sounds of nature blend to form a medley of love._

 _ **N**_ _uanced looks pass between them, as she tugs his hand. On the swings, she pulls him behind her, sitting down. Realizing what she wants, he pushes her. She laughs with glee, feeling the wind rush through her hair. They are a perfect picture, a couple forever in love, laughing for the rest of their life. Spring is the season when our love is at its freest, when we are most like our childlike selves. When we bare the deepest parts of ourselves to our love._

 _ **G**_ _olden children, they spins around under the shade of a cherry tree. He catches her as she dances into his arms, playfully swaying to non-existent music as the sunkisses their skin. She smiles and presses a miniscule kiss to his lips, it ends before he can even kiss her back. He presses his lips with his fingers, and blows her a sweet kiss Spring is the season when we have the most hope in love, when we know that love can survive. True love weathers spring._

 _ **Summer romances end for all kinds of reasons. But when all is said and done, they have one thing in common: They are shooting stars-a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, a fleeting glimpse of eternity. And in a flash, they're gone.~Nicholas Sparks**_

 _ **SUMMER**_

 _ **S**_ _erendipity trickles through her as she sits in her car, watching the kids cross the street joyfully, relishing the freedom that is the end of school. Summertime, the time of hot dogs, 4th of July, the reason kids push through the end of school, when sleeping in until 5 is perfectly acceptable. Summertime is also the time of midnight kisses stolen in the humid air. Summer is the season when we see the little things that we love, and pay attention to them._

 _ **U**_ _nusually curious, she steps out to her porch and takes in the sounds and smells of the neighborhood. The sizzle of hotdogs on the grill, the shouts of children in the houses. He comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. She leans back against him, noticing the way her smells, and finding how much she loves it Summer is the season when we notice the things about those we love._

 _ **M**_ _ellifluously, her voice rings through the house. She parades through in flip flops and finds him asleep on the couch, his hair askew and his clothes rumpled. Smiling, she leans down and pushes his hair out of his eyes, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. He shuffles in his sleep and smiles. Summer is the season for sleepy nights, for enjoying a relationship. When we feel the happiest in our relationship. When our bonds strengthen and cannot be broken._

 _ **M**_ _aybe magic is real. He thinks as she curls herself up against him even more. The firelight flickers over her face, making her impossibly beautiful. He simply presses his face into her hair and sighs, enjoying the sounds of the summer night. We can never truly tell how much we love a person. But in summer, even the most impossible things become impossible. That is what summer is known for. Breaking boundaries. Taking new steps. Exploring. Summer is the season when we learn more about our love. When we discover new things with them._

 _ **E**_ _thereal, she is a vision as she spins around in the sunset glow. He stands off to the side, smiling as he walks toward her. She holds out her hands to him, inviting him to join her in her revelry. He happily accepts, and they are standing, waves lapping at her feet, a picture perfect image. Summer is the season when spontaneity is appreciated. When doing things in the spur-of-the-moment is seen as normal. Impulsive decisions are made everyday._

 _ **R**_ _adiantly she smiles at him, in the light of the rising sun. Fireflies flicker around them, little beads of light illuminating the sky. It's a like a piece of the starry sky has come down to greet them. This, here, and right now, is what summer is all about. Summer is the month where we celebrate the joy we find in love. Everything that brings joy to us is embodied in summer. Our love knows no bound when it comes to joy. Like summer, it is infinite._

 _ **Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like**_

 _ **they're falling in love with the ground. ~Andrea Gibson**_

 _ **AUTUMN**_

 _ **A**_ _urora skies and sunset leaves. That is what autumn is. The time when we observe the colors around us, when we notice the signs of life retreating around us. She runs a hand over the neon orange of the pumpkin, the smooth texture, and the slight dips. He comes up behind her with a bushel of apples, and she picks up the pumpkin. Autumn is the season where we breath. The season where our senses are alert, with sight, smell, touch, taste, and sounds._

 _ **U**_ _nder great duress, she manages to bring out the gleaming turkey, setting it on the table. Around them, laughter and conversation flow freely, stuttered with the sound of clinking silverware and chewing. She kisses his cheek before sitting down at the head of the table. As she looks around, she feels her heart overflowing with love at the people around her. Autumn is the season where we are grateful for our love. We don't know what we have until we have lost it._

 _ **T**_ _aking a quick look at her, he revels in the sight she is to him. Her hair falling out, her face scrunched up in work, this is the woman he fell in love with. This is who she truly is, and this is how he loves her the most. He slings an arm around her shoulder and hugs her. She looks up with an annoyed expression he knows she's faking. Autumn is the season when you cannot fake emotion. When your feelings are there for the world to see._

 _ **U**_ _ltimately, she stumbles over a vine on the edge of the road. He catches her just in time, chuckling at her clumsiness. She stands up and shoves him away, her face creasing up into a small smile. The dog at her feet barks, jumping on her leg. Laughing, she picks him up and carries him the rest of the way. Autumn is appreciating the beauty in nature. Although people often confuse that with spring, autumn is when the true beauty of nature is shown._

 _ **M**_ _emories flood him as he remembers the years when he would go trick-or-treating with her. As best friends and little kids. As they stroll through the park, they notice kids dressed up in all sorts of costumes, from incredibly expensive to homemade. He smiles, remembering how excited he was to get candy and dress up. Autumn is the season of fun. Not summer, autumn. When we jump in leaf piles and knock on doors dressed up silly._

 _ **N**_ _ixing the idea of sleeping in, she rises up early, and looks at the sun. The colors look like those on the leaves before her. Behind, a pair of arms wraps around her and pulls her back. She rests her head underneath his. Autumn is the summer when we savor love. When we need to slow down and take a careful look at it. Love in autumn is amazing, for it is when we look a our love and remember why we love, which matters just as much as the fact that we do._


	3. Remember

_**The thing about those demigods? Well, they never wanted to be remembered. They just wanted their friends to live.**_

 **i.**

 **michael**

Percy Jackson sees Michael Yew everytime he visits New York. He hadn't known the boy well, hadn't known him much at all until he was forced to take over the Apollo cabin, for another demigod who Percy feels died for him. Another person, another good soul who deserved to live, yet that was stolen away by a madman on a rampage.

He can't even remember the first time he met Michael. In all honesty, the kid hadn't even peaked his attention when he first came to camp- was it before or after him? Percy didn't know all the kids at all, and that made him feel bad. Because every single one of those kids, if he had known them a little better, would have been one less demigod who's nameless face haunted his dreams.

Michael had always seemed like a nice kid. Skilled in archery and not music, unlike Lee. Another pair of parents who lost a child, another family broke. And Percy feels like it's all his fault. But then everytime he sees the sun rise, he remember what Annabeth had told him long ago. _They chose you, Percy. They chose to fight with you, to be your support. You couldn't have done it without them._ So instead of mourning the death of a truly good person, Percy decides to recognize, that Michael Yew stood his ground, like a true son of Apollo, and fought for what he believed in. And to make his death someone other than Michael's own choice, well, that would be nothing more than degrading to him. That Michael Yew was a hero when the Apollo cabin needed one. And for that, he will never be forgotten.

Annabeth Chase doesn't remember Michael Yew as much as she should. She wishes he could. Because she knowns, from stories told by other campers, that Michael stood his ground with Percy, that he fought alongside Percy, and that he saved Percy's life on that bridge, that fateful day. And for that, she is more grateful to him than words can even begin to describe.

She was young, when Michael came to camp. He was so talented at archery, everyone knew instantly he was definitely a son of Apollo. She had to admit, she was jealous of him at first. Archery was the one sport she didn't excel at. But now, she feels nothing but sorrow and pride for Michael Yew. To say that she knew him. To tell the stories of his bravery to his younger siblings. And to make sure that he is always remembered in the hearts of the people he saved.

 **ii.**

 **ethan**

If there was one demigod Percy Jackson wished he could do more for, it was Ethan Nakamura. It's almost cruel, how the Fates had turned against him. Ethan was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time. It wasn't his fault in the end, and he should have lived. He should have lived a better life than one he got. The cards he was dealt were harsh, unforgiving, and Ethan deserved a better life.

How ironic, it was, being a son of Nemesis, that in the end, it would be Ethan who would change the scales forever? The one who would tip the balance back in Percy's favor, the one who would bring the hope back into Percy's heart. For so long, he held the hatred in his heart. And that was what he made a promise not to do anymore, after he failed to save that last demigod.

Ethan, in the end, was a truly good person, and a hero. Yet, so many would never know that. His name, forever tainted by the fact that the boy had lost his way for a little while. The thought made Percy's blood simmer. When it came down to it, Ethan chose to stand by Percy, and, knowing full well it could cost him his life, attacked fronos, giving Percy just a little bit more time. He had saved Percy, and for that, Ethan Nakamura was a true hero. He was never as heralded as children of major gods were, never as recognized as he could have been. And in the end, it was in his honor that Percy decided things should be changed. Because Ethan Nakamura had only wanted a home, and Percy Jackson wanted him to be remembered as the demigod, who fought for those who wanted a home.

Annabeth Chase hated Ethan Nakamura for most of her life. She found now love for him in her heart, found no forgiveness for the things he had done, the actions that he took, the words that he said. Until that fateful moment on the bridge, where, in the battle between his life and his enemy, he chose to fight against his master, and standby his enemy. Because Ethan Nakamura was the demigod who may have gotten a little lost on the way to his happy ending, but a demigod who deserved one nonetheless.

Annabeth had always believed that choices spoke louder than all kinds of words. And yes, Ethan made have made a wrong choice, and carried on with it. But when it really came down to it, Ethan made the right choice, and although he died for it, it was still the better choice. It was still the measure of who he truly was, the kind of person he truly was. He proved everyone who said bad things about nemesis wrong, and showed at a person's parentage does not define their actions. Instead, he forged his own path, and didn't let a prophecy dictate who he was. Ethan Nakamura fought for the forgotten souls, and forced beings of mythic proportions to change their minds and be better. And because in the end, Ethan was not fighting for Kronos. He was fighting for himself, and all those demigods like him. And for that, he will be remembered by her, as the turning point in the war, and as a true hero.

 **iii.**

 **bianca**

Percy Jackson feels something hit too close to home when he thinks of Bianca di Angelo, and if there ever was a demigod who didn't deserve what she got, it was her. Losing Bianca, breaking that promise had not only shattered him, but also broken her little brother, into sad little pieces that Percy wasn't sure could ever be healed. Bianca di Angelo deserved something other than what he gave her, he thought, but she never ever made it seem so.

When he thinks of Bianca, it's mainly of how strong she was, taking care of her little brother in the absence of her parents, carving her own path with the Hunters and finally spreading her wings, letting them be free. She loved Nico, really, she did, but it was time Bianca di Angelo lived her own life, and doing that, well, that made her brave. Percy sees Bianca as the reason he fights for Nico. Even after all these years, he will always feel guilty for his death. It was his fault, and he should have been able to do something. In not doing anything, he caused a little boy to lose hope and happiness, because he couldn't keep a promise.

He loved Bianca like a sister, even though he did not know her very long. She was always someone of complete kindness and an unbreakable spirit, and, although it didn't show, wise beyond her years. (ironic considering she was like 70+) But in the end, she died a hero, and died the way she would have always preferred, fighting for her friends and her family, protecting them from all harm. That's the kind of person, the kind of demigod, she was. And the thought of that, knowing that, makes the heavy guilt in his chest ease away, just for a few moments. Bianca di Angelo deserves more than to be a sad memory. She deserves to be remembered as the best of us all.

Annabeth Chase never knew Bianca di Angelo well. She had only heard stories from Percy and Thalia, and yet, she feels even more crushing guilt than Percy, and she has never told him this. Because she believes that Bianca dying was her fault. Bianca died on a quest to save her, and to try and help her. Sometimes, she's hit with memories, awful memories that just remind how Bianca went down fighting for her, and how she couldn't even repay the favor.

She knows Bianca wouldn't want to be remembered like this though. Wouldn't want to be remembered in the form of the tears dripping down her face, Percy's hallowed look in his eyes, Nico's permanent grimace. She knows Bianca would rather be smiles and laughter, good memories and happy tears. So she sucks it up, she bites back the sobs and chokes them down, and she makes them remember what a good person she was. She hides that she needs this just as much as they do. Hides the fact that she, possibly, needs it more, because no one has ever seen Annabeth Chase break down because of Bianca di Angelo. But Bianca was a demigod who was nothing more than human. She was who we all wanted to be and who we all wished we could be. Selfless and kind, firm and compassionate. She was the demigod who was among the best of us.

 **iv.**

 **zoë**

Zoë Nightshade was the one person who Percy Jackson didn't feel regrets for. Because although she died, and yes, that was awful, Percy knew she wouldn't have had it any other way, dying for her lady, and for the friends she had made in such a short amount of time, but was already unflinchingly loyal to. Zoë Nightshade was the fallen hero, the fallen Titan, not demigod, who deserved a life in Elysium, and that was what she got. She was unusual, to say the least, but she was funny, even if she didn't mean to be, and kind. Truly kind. Zoë Nightshade was Artemis's lieutenant for centuries, and in the end, she deserved a hero's death, and that was what she got.

She reminds him not of sad memories, but the year in his life when he was forced to change, to really grow up and become the man he is today. Zoë Nightshade forced him to become a better man, to become and better and more intelligent person, to show him that parentage doesn't define you at all. What defines you are the friends and the choices you make, in the end of your life.

Zoë was the first person, he realized, that showed him the kind of person he should be. The kind of dedication and loyalty he should have. Because when it came down to the end of the line, she put the utmost dedication into what she believed in, and how she lived her life. She never left a soldier behind, she never left a friend behind, and if needed be, she put other before her and sacrificed her life, so they could live to see another day, with the moon shining bright and the stars winking in and out of the sky. Zoë was a hero, more so than many people Percy knew, because she still believed there was good in the gods, an admirable quality at the time, and she had dedication and love for one last thing in her life. She would always be remembered for that.

Annabeth Chase thinks of Zoë Nightshade everytime she looks up at the stars, and sees her constellation glittering up there. All in all, she got a pretty good deal; being turned into a memorable constellation wasn't the worst thing that could happen to someone's death. Annabeth had always been good at reading people. Or when she saw how Percy and Zoë acted together, she knew that they were good friends, they had been through so much for each other, and that they would die for their friends. They were so alike.

So when Zoë Nightshade died at her feet, she felt even more guilty than how she felt about Bianca. Because Annabeth could have prevented this girl's death, this fierce, vibrant, lively girl. And all of that was taken away because Annabeth couldn't fight back and she allowed herself to be captured, because Zoë was such a good person there was no way she would let Percy go alone on this. But Annabeth Chase would forever be grateful to Zoë Nightshade. Because she reminded Annabeth that standing up for who you believe in, that's what makes you a true hero.

 **v.**

 **silena**

Percy Jackson sees Silena Beauregard whenever he looks at Annabeth. He sees her in the way she smiles, in the glint in her eyes, and he can't but be so thankful to the daughter of Aphrodite for showing him what true love was really supposed to be like. Without her, his heart might have never been whole. She was the best thing an Aphrodite girl could be: kind, selfless, loving, and fierce. She knew that violence wasn't the way to go, but she also knew that fighting for those you love was what a true hero would do. And it was her death, his loss, that made him realize that fighting Luke wasn't going to accomplish anything. Instead, he had to open his heart and forgive luke. Because even in the midst of battle, Silena Beauregard had love, and fury in her heart, but she never let that fury overtake her love.

Silena showed him that a daughter of the love goddess was in fact the most powerful of them all. True, being a son of Poseidon gave you a lot of credibility, but being one of the best children of Aphrodite, she showed him that love in the time of war can be even more powerful than a deadly weapon.

It was her words that he remembered, her words that echoed in his brain when the final moments were approaching. It was her words he remembered whenever he looked in Annabeth's eyes. And it was her that showed, true sacrifice meant you were willing to do whatever it took to save your friends. Even dying and fighting a monster you couldn't possibly beat, and sacrificing yourself because that was what it took to keep the people you loved alive. And if there was one thing Silena Beauregard believed in, it was pure love and beauty. And for that, he will remember her as a different kind of hero, but a true one, nevertheless.

Annabeth Chase thinks of Silena Beauregard, and she knows that she was one of her best friends. She might have loved chocolate and jewelry, makeup and clothes, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it's respectable, because Silena embraced who she was and never lost sight of the person she was trying to become. Because she was brave enough to tell the person that she loved she loved him, before she lost him. Silena was what finally pushed Annabeth to Percy, on the pavilion on his birthday. Finally pushed her towards taking that final step and accepting she loved this boy. If Silena was strong enough to love in the middle of a war, so was she.

It was also Silena that scared her, in a way. Seeing how listless she was after Beckendorf, seeing how hurt she was, Annabeth wasn't sure she would ever be able to put herself back together if Percy died, and he knew she loved him, and felt the same way. But in the end, it was also Silena who made her realize those moments of loving Beckendorf, of always being with him, is what made her a hero, and what made Annabeth Chase realize having someone know you love them is better then them never knowing it at all. That is how she will be remembered.

 **vi.**

 **beckendorf**

Charles Beckendorf was the first person Percy Jackson told about his feels for Annabeth Chase. And for that, he more grateful, more indebted to him than words can possibly begin to describe. Beckendorf was the person whom Percy trusted the most, save for Annabeth, Grover, and his mother, and he needed someone other than them to talk to. Beckendorf was never a coward, and Percy was. He felt like one. But in the end, it was Beckendorf that showed him that making difficult decisions in the midst of wartime was what heroes were meant for. And that was what he learned from him. Beckendorf was the hero that the camp needed the person who pushed those demigods, riled them up, and encouraged them to fight alongside each other, not against each other.

Percy had never gotten to thank him, either, and for that he was truly sad. Without Beckendorf's advice, he wasn't sure he would have ever gotten the most important person in the world, and he wasn't ever sure she would know how he felt. And he never even got to see them together. That was upsetting, and sad.

But Silena and Annabeth were right. That would not be what Beckendorf would want to be remembered by. He was a good guy, and truly good person who helped a flailing demigod though his years, dealing with problems so trivial yet important, because even though they were the offspring of the gods, they were still human. And Beckendorf did that. He helped a young boy without expecting anything in return, loved a girl who loved him back without abandon, and sacrificed his life because he needed to save his friends, and keep them safe. Charles Beckendorf would be remembered as the demigod who was the spark, the flame that set of the revolution, the demigod that pulled the camp together and made them fight, made them bond together as brother and sisters, and friends and family, and stand up for what they believed in. And that's all he ever wanted.

Annabeth Chase will never stop missing Charles Beckendorf. She will never stop feeling like she should have done more, she should have fixed it, fixed his death and changed it. Done something, anything. She knows Percy carries the guilt of his death around with him everyday, and all she does is wish she could help him with something she cannot hope to do. She wishes she was on that boat, wishes she was the one taken by the fire so that someone would be ok, so he love would never have to deal with such a thing once more. But what can she do?

But she's also so very thankful to Charles Beckendorf, because when it came down to it, he was the hero she could never have been, the demigod they all wished they could be one day. And through that all, he remained human. He kept his humor, he kept his love, he kept his friends, and he never stopped helping. He would be remembered as the anchor. The demigod that worked with his hands, was a little rough with tools, but kinder than possible with words.

 **vii.**

 **luke**

 _Family, Luke. You promised._ Percy Jackson remembers Luke Castellan everyday, without question or fail. He remembers the scar on his face, remembers the blue that crackled behind his eyes, the smile that he gave. Remembers Luke Castellan as the hero who made some pretty impressive mistakes, but in the end had a deeper sense of right and wrong, and was the true hero. He wasn't evil. He was good, and he deserved a better way to die. Luke wouldn't have seen it this way though. He would have loved the way he went, dying for his friends and the people he truly felt connected to. He did love Thalia and Annabeth as his new family, and Percy? Percy was a really good kid.

Percy heard Luke's voice in his head, every single time he fights with a sword. No matter how skilled, or unskilled his opponent is, or who he's fighting against, it's always the same simple things Luke said to him. _Keep your weight balanced. Use your blade to your advantage. Let it do the work. Be smarter and quicker, not stronger._ It was always the same words running through his head. And without fail, he follows them. And they've saved his life every time. Luke Castellan was so much more than what he got. A wayward demigod looking for a home, after his best friend died. A wayward demigod who, if he just had a father who paid a little more attention to him, would have turned out with a life that was a little easier. But demigods never got good lives.

Percy Jackson remembers that all Luke wanted was to change that. To bring his little family back and sew it back together, to fix all the little demigods who wanted a home. And that's why he was a good guy. Because in the end Luke Castellan was remembered as the demigod who went against thousand-year-old mythic deities to fight for his brothers and sisters. Sure, his way of doing it may have been very wrong. But he cared so much more than he was given credit for. And he will always be remembered for that. He fought on the side of humanity, and so will Percy Jackson.

Percy Jackson, in the end, did what was not expected of him, but what Luke knew he would do. He fought with Luke, not against him. Demigod against demigod would just split an already war-torn world, and that was no way to achieve peace. So Luke Castellan and Percy Jackson decided, in the end, the best way to fight Kronos was together. And Percy made the choice Luke knew he would have done. The right one. It wasn't just Luke, though, that he made this choice with. He made that choice in memory of Michael, of Ethan and of Bianca. Of Zoe, of Silena and of Beckendorf. Of all the demigods who fought for a better place, who defined what it was to be a hero, who changed what people saw of them, who broke stereotypes, proved people wrong, and who were the true Heroes of Olympus. Not him, but them. The demigods who wanted nothing more than do save their friends. And for that, for keeping his friends alive, he is forever indebted to those demigods.

Annabeth Chase remembers Luke Castellan as part of her first family. Even facing him in the throne room of Olympus, battered and bloody and bruised, she can't help but flashback to the time when she was only seven years old, and her and him and Thalia had formed their own little family. So her heartbreak had been even worse, spending about fifteen minutes crying before she goes to see her new best friend, because she just couldn't believe he would do something like this. And why she's so adamant he's not that bad, and happy when everyone else realizes it.

That being said, Annabeth never lied to Luke about loving him. Sure, 12-year-old her may have thought so at one point in her life, but the truth was she stopped loving him the second the boy with the green eyes walked into her life. She had felt for him a mere crush. Because what she felt for Percy Jackson, no, that was not a mere crush. That was pure, true love. That was a kind of feeling she had never felt before. Her, as a young child, did not pay much attention to the workings of love. But still, she knew, once she was a little older, a little wiser, and had seen just a little more, that was she and Percy had, that was real love. She did love Luke. Just not in the way she loved Percy. But Luke Castellan was the founder of her first family, and for that, he will always hold a special place in her heart. Luke, brought her and Percy closer, and he helped her in her quest to realize who it was that she really did love.

Because when she put them side-by-side, there wasn't even a question anymore. But that was besides the point. The fact was that Luke had done some absolutely horrible things in his lifetime, and for a long time, Annabeth hated him. She hated him with everything she had, every little piece in her body and every fiber of her being. Hated him for bringing Thalia into it, hated him for betraying her after they had known each other for so long. But if there's anything Annabeth Chase learned from hating Luke Castellan, it's that hating someone who never deserved it was exhausting. And no matter what, hating someone in general was just plain exhausting.

Annabeth Chase sees Luke Castellan in the way Percy fights, the way he moves and the way his smile is crooked. She sees him in the way he asses a situation, his eyes scanning it and the way he mouths Luke's instructions while he fights. Because as much as he doesn't know it, Luke probably influenced Percy the most at Camp Half-Blood, the only other people that could have done it more being her and Grover. She knows that Percy will carry around the deaths of their friends' everyday, for the rest of his life, carry around that darkness with him, but she will not let it consume him. Because she is also carrying around that darkness, that burden in her soul and she has lost something pure and good. But she also knows that helping to save a life makes it much better. And that those demigods, Michael, Ethan, Bianca, Zoe, Silena, and Beckendorf, helped save so many lives, even as they died for their friends. They wanted nothing more than to help, and that was what made them true heroes. And she hopes, oh dear gods, she hopes they know that, because they were amazing people, good friends, which made them the best demigods and heroes.

 **Bonus, does not fit with the rest of the one-shot**

 **vii.**

 **annabeth**

He wished she hadn't died. Hadn't been so stupidly selfless and taken that blade for him, taken the poisoned blade which snatched her away, into the cold claws of Thanatos and dragged her to the land of Hades. He loved her. He _loves_ her. He knows that now, staring at her shroud, which was beautiful, grey and shining. He thinks back to their first quest, when he told her they should have buried in her that shroud. Oh, what he wouldn't have given to have those moments there again. Now he'll never get to do the same for her. Never let her know he loved her so much, that she owned everything about him, from his heart to his mind. That she had laid claim to every last piece of him. That Percy Jackson was hopelessly, completely, Annabeth Chase's. (He doesn't know it was the same for her)

He can't go anywhere-can't be anywhere without seeing her in everything, from the way the sun shines and the smell of the sea tinted him, from the way the sky looks on a cloudy day to the laughter from the kids on the lava wall. And he knows that Annabeth, Annabeth wouldn't have wanted this for him. But he can't bear to think about how to be without her. Honestly, he doesn't know how he did it anyways. He can only thank the gods Thalia was there, and she said a few things that managed to calm Luke down long enough for him to regain control, and vanquish Kronos. But it feels off. Nothing feels good, nothing feel right without her by his side anymore. Percy Jackson was not meant to live in a world without Annabeth Chase. It's wrong, and everyone knows it. His mother tells him how handsome he is, how he could find any girl he wanted. But the only girl Percy Jackson wants is the one he can't have.

They tiptoed around him for months afterwards, not touching him, not speaking to him. The only person he would even think about talking to was Grover and his mother. And even to them, it was one-word answers and staring off into space, little bits and pieces of the old Percy resurfacing only when he wanted traced his hands over the pictures of them. Not much, and not often. Only when the sad memories became too much and he had to remember some of the good times, no matter how fleeting they may be in his memory. He loses a little piece of her, every day, every second that moves on. Her laugh becomes a little harder to remember. Her smile becoming fuzzy, blurred at the edges of his vision. The lemon smell of her hair slowing fading from her sweatshirt, the one he clutches before he goes to bed every night. The way her eyes looked when she smiled at him. The memory of when he first fell in love with her. He can feel it. Slowly, piece by piece, he's losing it, losing pieces of her to time.

And he can't He can't bear to lose his Wise Girl again, can't bear to be separated from her once more, lose her one more time. He's forced, forced to live out a life without her, a life just a little less bright and with a little less good. But Annabeth would never want him to be like this. Never want him to wallow like this. So when the memories become a little fuzzy, and the girl he loves slips away just a little more, he closes her eyes and remembers Annabeth Chase, a true hero, and the love of his life.

Annabeth Chase hated leaving Percy Jackson behind. Hated leaving him there to deal with everything and just, because she had to be a hero and save the boy she loved, no matter the cost. She knew, the second she saw the demigod creeping up, she felt a shiver run up her spine. He was in danger, and there was no way she could let that happen. He had the Curse of Achilles, but what did she care. She was going to protect him, no matter what. So she threw herself in front of the blade and took it. _Better me than him._ He was needed. Not her. He was vital, and if he died, she would go out of her mind, completely and utterly mad, raving.

There, in Elysium, she wanted nothing more than to be with him again, to find him and to love him once more. To tell him how much she loved him, how he was the only one, how he could only have been the only for her. But she had to die. The poison had to work just a little too fast, getting past her shoulder and into her heart. And so she had to leave him, sooner than she would have liked. If it had been up to her, she wouldn't have left him at all, and instead, she would have done something else. But it was what needed to be done.

Whenever she got reports from Nico about what was going on above, she would never be able to live with herself, hearing how Percy was after her death. She remembered one time, Nico and Percy had summoned her. She had been standing in the Fields of Asphodel, where she often was, and suddenly, right after she blinked, she was opening her eyes to a clearing scene, where she could make out two figures in the darkness. She stuttered at first, and felt odd, almost too cold, but the second her eyes focused on those two, she forgot everything else. She remembered whispering his name, so soft it was like the beat of a butterfly's wings. She doubted that he heard it, but Percy's eyes widened and he took a step towards her. Her heart broke at the sight of him, looking tousled and ragged, with bags underneath his eyes that carved into his skin, and a pale, thin body, as though he hadn't been eating or living at all.

She couldn't live with the fact that she had done this to him. And it was a good things she didn't have to. Because hurting Percy Jackson was simple something inevitable, when it came to her protecting him. She reached out to him, but a cry escaped her as she felt him pass through her fingertips. She stumbled back, clapping a silvery had over her mouth, as she stared at him, bright, shining tears threatening to spill over. She took her hand of her mouth, and took a deep breathe. Well, she was already dead. May as well tell him. So she confessed. She was already completely, wholly, totally his. Annabeth Chase was Percy Jackson's. And saw his eyes widen, and could feel his heart break, because hers was as well.

She regretted the fact that she had never told him sooner. But she relished in the fact that soon, she would see him again. He would grow up, maybe have a few kids with another woman who loved him, who could make him happy again. And that's all Annabeth ever wanted. For him to be happy. So if that was accomplished by being with another woman, so be it. It made him happy. Because Percy Jackson had been through too much in his life not to be happy. Because he was a hero, and if anything, it was always the hero who deserved happiness most of all.

 **Yo guys! I hope you liked that. I just wanted to take a moment and recognize all the people who died in the series, brave demigods who died. It was so emotionally draining to write that, however, because I had to go through the experience of seeing them die all over again. I hope you guys liked that! The next one coming up is a soulmate AU, or sorts. Until next time!**

 **~Vi**


	4. What We Mean

percy

/pˈɜːsi/

 _noun_

seas, oceans, rivers, rain, lakes, ponds, drowning, being sucked further and further and further until she has nothing left and is gasping for air, begging, pleading, wanting him, and she can do nothing else but hold on and hope to come out unscathed

his hands carve hot valleys into her body, traces maps and memories and nightmares and dreams as his hot, wet lips skim over her own, and dear _god_ she is nothing more than a puddle in his arms

he promises her in a time of war, when life is fast and must be lived, and they are being choked with death and blood and curses from the underworld itself. _i would die for you_ , he whispers, his voice rough and scratchy, like the pebbles before the river washed over them and shapes them. _you are my everything._

annabeth

/AN-ə-beth/

 _noun_

ancient gods, war, blades, armor, broken limbs, a hurricane, he is helpless as she pulls him in further and further, struck under her gaze until she whispers in his ear, and he is at her every whim, and he can only imagine what he will look like when it is over

her hands fist deep into his hair as she sinks her teeth into his shoulder, his name falling from her lips, she is sharp edges and a harsh touch and by the name of every god out there, he is _nothing_ more than her slave

she weaves myths and stories for him, like the tapestry that nearly brought her downfall, and he can no longer tell the difference between reality and dreams. _i can't lose you._ she traces her tongue over the shell of his ear, breath hot, before pulling away once more. _i swore to protect you at any cost._

grover

/ɡɹˈə͡ʊvə/

 _noun_

meadows, vines, flowers, trees, plants, he is everything good in a world that is messed up and wrong, everything peaceful and kind, the one thing that is pure and sweet, fighting for one last, noble cause, and he is hers to hold and cherish

his hair is rough, much like tree bark, his hands curl into fists as he faces them down, and she cannot help but to crave more of his touch, so gentle and _kind_ , so unlike the rest she is used to

he never lies, until now. _i promise you i will come back to you._ he murmurs, before kissing her so deeply she is beyond hungry, and wanting for more. he leaves from her life like a tornado, uprooting every part of it, tossed in a blaze. his smile is something she never sees again. _you and i are together for a reason_.

piper

/ˈpīpər/

 _noun_

maple syrup, flags, music, white, clocks, everything is hard and soft, he is mesmerized by her, she is effortlessly seductive, everything that women are, and dear lord he is under her spell

every touch she gives him paints in reds and pinks, leaves searing burns on his skin, makes him _crave_ more, not just want, and when she wraps her fingers around his arm and smiles under his lips, she is a vixen

she whispers nothing words in between silk sheets, late at nights. _we found each other for a reason._ she traces his scars with her fingers, she whirls in and out, and he is caught in her grasp, unable to look at anything else. he wants nothing more than do hold her as close as he can. _always trust a beautiful girl._

jason

/jā-sən/

 _noun_

bright light, piercing gazes, coffee stains, change, honor and bravery, he is everything left and steady and good to her, he is clever and quiet and a little lost and fighting for the underdogs and freedom

his lips ghost over hers and she feels _free_ , feels liberated and like she can touch the sky, and by the name of his god and hers, she needs to feel like that again, his arms pull her to him and she feels safe once more

promises are made in firelight, his eyes are no longer just blue, but the red and yellow of the embers. _i will make sure we save him_. he looks haunted, like the ghosts that so often invade her dreams and plague her the nights he is no longer there to chase them away. _we will see them all again._

leo

/ˈliˌoʊ/

 _noun_

embers, space, heartbreak, broken keys, , tears and laughter, he is an enigma, and all-consuming, so much like the fire that flickers from him head to toe, he is laughter and loss and so much more than what his destiny is

he is fire personified, dark mirth in those eyes, those eyes that steal her away, lock her behind caverns of sorrow and despair, those eyes that look so broken, those eyes that slide closed before he kisses her so deeply she is consumed

he always comes back to her. that is the truth. _i swear it on the river styx._ she hates him for making such a promise. it is his life on the line. and his life is twined with hers she shudders underneath his gaze and body, she feels time flitting away like sparks from a fire. _i always figure something out._

hazel

/ˈhāzəl/

 _noun_

baseball caps, petrichor, calluses, songbirds, she is sweet and cold at the same time, a juxtaposed being that flies swiftly through the night, and graces both the sun and moon with a laugh that disarms enemies while she cuts them

her hands are small yet strong, and they relax every bit of him, make him feel better and stronger, like she is infusing life back into him, like she is giving him a reason to smile, and her eyes are what he looks for every morning

there's a reason that she's never too chatty, quiet and reserved. she's more intelligent than most of them, has seen what nonsense words can do to the soul. _don't worry, i've died before and i can tell you, it's not that awful._ she smiles at him once more before the ground swallows her up and she is lost. _all of us think about it daily anyways._

frank

/fraNGk/

 _noun_

gravel, feathers, bridges, knots, pride, heart, he is nothing like what people would expect of him, and he breaks all those stereotypes about how his family is supposed to be, defines the highest of expectations and judgements because that is who he is

he is quiet touches and sweet looks to her, looks that make her feel as those something is in the pit of her stomach, dark eyes and lingering touches in the dark of night, and he places her hand over his heart, and she guards it carefully

defying the odds had always been a favorite pastime of his, something that mesmerized her. _this is something i have to do._ he carries out duty like wings, using it to soar to unbelievable heights instead of letting it bog him down and discourage him. _my death is simply foretold, but that doesn't mean i can't fight._

nico

/ˈ /

 _noun_

dark circles, cracked souls, metal bars, a whispered voice, he is so much more than blackness and death, he is in fact the opposite, a beautiful, broken boy with a little too big of a heart that's been stepped on too many times

his smile is just a little wicked as he stabs the sword into the ground, the same kind of wicked he gives him as he traces his hands down the other boy's chest, the same kind of wicked that takes his breath away

he has always been a little too sad, always able to give up his life without making it a big fuss. _it's always been me against the world._ he fights battles that are younger than him and not worthy, battles that make the other boy's breath catch in his throat. black has always been his style, after all. _kids like me don't belong anywhere._

thalia

/θəˈlaɪ.ə/

 _noun_

broken promises, canines, louvre, grey, she is powerful and strong, almost too much so, silver clouds around her, she is a unbreakable girl, because she knows what weak is

her friends keep her safe because she has been protecting her whole life, traces traces pale fingers over his, the scar fascinating her as she stares into the eyes of the person she once trusted more than her own mother

she takes betrayal in stride, keeps it on the backburner. _it's just me left without a family, like it always is._ she will live on forever without one, live forever protecting those who may not deserve it, protect those who will never know she is there. she will lose everyone again. _i've lost too many people in my life already._

demigod

/ˈdemēˌɡäd/

 _noun_

blood, ichor, marble, piercing eyes, sharp tongues, they are everything wrong with this world and everything good, they are volatile and passionate, godly and mortal blood exploding in their veins as they collide and mix

they are tangled limbs, grasping at something that can pass for love in war time when every second must be lived while they still have it, lips sliding over skin and each other, eyes connecting across battlefields strewn with bodies

they are not led by the gods, but rather by their humanity, which makes them ten times more dangerous than anything else on this earth. _we fight for those who cannot be heard._ more powerful than those gods themselves in that they are still part human, and that they still have some humanity left. _we will not be forgotten._


	5. Blood

A lovely three sentence fic that I just wrote on this wonderful snow day because of a pin I saw on Pinterest.

:~:

Oh how the blood spills over her fingers and stains them, bright red and crimsons that her eyes can't help be drawn to, and she remembers something that her mother said when she was a child, whispered it in her ear as the crown fell upon her head and seconds before the life ebbed away from her eyes; she whispers, " _true queens carry blood on their hands,_ " and never before has Annabeth known this is true, even if she cannot see the blood and it is gotten through wars and conflicts and death, oh but how she is scarred and the blood, the thick, hot, heavy blood haunts her dreams.

She carries a weight on her shoulders none think she can bear, and she stands straighter and all of them: back ramrod straight, eyes grey and cold, she is not a princess, she is a queen, and she is ruthless, she will do what it takes to protect her people, no matter the cost, she puts them before herself, and if that means blood stains her soul, then so be it, because she is a queen, and so she ignores the sobs that come to her late in the night, wipes them away and stands up once more because _no one can see her cry because she is a fucking queen_.

And so she thinks that her life is not worth much because of her actions, oh but, how she could not be more wrong, her life is covered in gems and diamonds, and men and women alike thirst for her blood, for her title, and she does not know that she is the lynchpin of it all, even as the shadowed figure slips into her bedroom in the night, and she jolts awake; and she grabs him and holds the knife to his neck, staring into bright green eyes that remind her a little too much of the King next door, and she very nearly lets him go, oh but she is a queen, and blood on her hands is something she has gotten far too used to.


	6. Inked

This is just a little one-shot I found myself obsessed with, the three sentence ones. I've actually had the idea of turning this into a full fid, but I just have't gotten around to it, and I wanted to make sure it was something that people would read. Tell me what you guys about it, and check me out in tumblr stuckinarut!

* * *

They whisper both lies and truths about the names inked on the wrists of men and women, myths and legends that surround them and have warped the tale so much she does not know what is truth and what is reality, but she knows a few things; how the left holds the soulmate's name, how the right holds the enemy's, but she is a wrong case, an impossible case, one that leaves old men whispering in the streets and gypsies eager to exploit, for she holds the same name on both.

And she does not know what to do about this, besides the fact that she's covered the marks up her whole life and pretended that they do not exist, she is not like those in the world who have no marks or like those who do not care what they're marks say, all she knows is that if she does not kill him first, he will kill her, but at the same time, they are forced to love each other, a cruel twist of fate that leaves her shaky and wobbly, leaves her unsure of her future and wondering whether or not this life is worth living.

She has heard about the Morai, old women who would sit and dictate the life of all those on Earth, and more than everything, she would like to grab them and strangle them, hurt them for cursing her to a life where she can either live and not love, or love and die; and to her, she does not know which one she would prefer, but she knows that she will not allow herself to be weak, because she is Annabeth and she is forged in fire from the bridges she's burned and in the blood of those she leaves behind.


	7. Romance

I own nothing. All characters belong to Rick Riordan

Annabeth Chase could not always wrap her head around the concept of romance.

It wasn't that she didn't like it, she personally thought romance was completely fine. But she just never really understood how romance worked. Not to say she wouldn't appreciate romantic things, but those kinds of images were completely wasted on her, despite the staggering amount of book she had.

No, she didn't really know what romance was. She didn't really she understand how Beckendorf could give Silena flowers that would die in weeks, how Piper could just surprise Jason with some of his favorite things because it would make him happy. She didn't have that kind of over the top, demonstrative romance.

And, secretly, if she wasn't lying to herself, she kinda liked it. She liked the fact that she and Percy loved each other a love of practicality, from hardship and friendship and years and years of knowing each other. They lived a love of laughs and mud and water and the sun shining on her skin.

She never needed the fancy proposals with the thousand red roses; if she was honest, she hated the attention. And he knew that. The way she felt with Percy was so far beyond ridiculous acts of affection, gemstones and chocolates. The way she felt with Percy was so far beyond just a relationship.

They were intertwined, as much each others as they were their own. They were two stars, burning brightly beside each other in the night.

And Annabeth did not require anything more than what Percy was already doing to prove that he loved her. He listened to her (ok, not really, but at least he tried, and he was never cruel, just a little oblivious) he always wanted to be with her, whether or not it was a love kind of day or a friendship kind of day, he told her everything about how he was feeling, and he never failed to confide in her. That, to her, was always so much more important than dramatic proclamations of love and theatrics. He cared about her.

Her love was like the sun on her face, a slight, pleasant warmth that slowly spread through her body, before she was as radiant as the sun itself. Her love was nights of pure friendship, sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch, watching crappy TV at 3 am. Her love was in the little things, how he knew how to calm her down, and how she knew that he didn't much care for coffee, while she lived for it.

And she knew nothing could beat the feeling when she looked over at him and smiled realizing that not only was she in love with him, but that her best friend was right there as well.

They lived a love of loyalty, friendship, trust, and practicality. And that was all the love they needed.


	8. Fire

I own nothing. All characters belong to Rick Riordan. Hey guys! So this one-shot is a little glimpse into a vigilante AU I was thinking of writing. Please tell me whether or not you would like to see it! Thanks!

:~:

If such a thing was possible, she was blood and fire and scars and smoke colored eyes on a rooftop, waiting for the moment when she was able to defy gravity, for when she turns and looks at you, you feel thousands of years of dark, cold tendrils seep down your spine, and her smile, of fear her smile, for she has seen hell and more, and has traveled through life with knives of bone-believe me when I say fear her when she looks at you and smiles, believe me when I say you are better off not knowing she is alive at all.

They never say his name too loud, for legend has it that he appears on the back of a dark horse, with a whip and bright eyes, hair as dark as the night, and a wicked smile that would taunt you from a mile away; no one ever talks about him, except for when we find another victim of his on the streets, and when we see the black smoke left behind just before he vanishes- so believe me when I say he is sharp edges and ice cold blood running through his veins, and believe me when I say he is an enigma, one you will be better of not knowing.

It's in the same dark alleyway that she grips his hair and kisses him brutally, as they fight in tandem with one another, as they push and pull, neither willing to give in, as they tangle themselves in a sweaty and heavy dance that has been done thousands and thousands of times, as the blood of the gods flows through their veins and myths thrum in their ears, and she smiles into his neck, tasting salt, for they have taken to power like Icarus has taken to the sun, and oh, how he craves for the the moment it comes crashing down, for he knows their fall will be just as sweet.

Make sure to R&R! Follow me on tumblr stuckinarut!


	9. Time

He watches her, and his, oh his heart begins to ache from how beautiful she is, everything she is, just beauty and grace, and a woman who is strong and his one true love, and who deserves far better than him; a woman who he was fated to love for eternity, until the very day Athena herself came down and stole him away, back into the comforting arms so he would no longer have to watch her laugh and smile with another man, because he has been in the midst of war, but this, oh this is much worse.

Her whole body hungers for him, and her mind screams out to go to him, for it is almost too painful to see him standing over there with her, too painful to think about anything other than how much she wished she had said yes when he asked her the question, how much she wished that being the eldest didn't mean her family's lives fell on her, how much she _hungered_ for his warm touch one more, and she hungers for the moment when he leaves, so she can ease the aching of her heart a little bit.

The ballroom is exquisite, full of champagne and chandeliers and beautiful women in beautiful dresses, celebrating the end of The Great War, but they are not happy, for they are too lost in their pain and suffering and love for each other, but when the gun fires, when the cork pops, and when time stands still, they with let go and move on because they are sacrifice and beauty, and strength and wonder, but they are also hopelessly in love with each other and doomed to live a life of loneliness.

Hey guys! I hoped you liked this one-shot. I kinda wanted to write a longer oneshot fid based on this. If you couldn't tell, it's 1919, and it's a Victorian England fid based off of Mary and Matthew's journey on Downton Abbey, one of my favourite TV shows. I hope you liked it!


	10. Death

Annabeth Chase will be damned if this is the way she's going to be remembered- all blood and violence, golden liquid that slides down her arms and mixes with the red sprouting from her own, and she certainly doesn't want this to be the way he remembers her, full of anger and vengeance, so hot and thick it spews out of her like blood, like the rest of the blood that drips down her body and coats her skin.

Because she is nothing more than a women forged in fire, sparks and embers and a goddess herself, even though she is only descended from one (sometimes Percy forgets which one has the real power) for when the blades clash and her eyes darken, monsters alike fall under her gaze, one of dark mirth and intrigue.

Honestly, it's only fitting that this was the way everything should end: because in her seventeen years of life, things have never been easy for Annabeth Chase: easy, simple, happy, forever are simply not less she allows to fit in her vocabulary (they're far too dangerous to waste on her) so how could she have ever elected that she got a happiness and a life.

Because pain was the pulse in her heart and death in the poem that was her life, tears as the water from which she first emerged, blood from which her body thrived on, and because sadness and suffering were as familiar to her as kisses were for young lovers on a hot summer day.

Because the moment she fall on the ground, eyes open and lifeless is not the end of her story, the end of her story will be if he falls, so when she takes the knife for him, she knows that she is protecting everything that she ever wished she could be-loyal, selfless, brave- but more than that, she knows she is protecting the only thing that can protect everyone else.

And the tragedy written in her veins screams out in triumph.


	11. Stubble

In what way, shape or form was this fair, what world where she had to see him like this, slightly unkempt, hair flying all over the place, green eyes mussed and tired, voice heavy from sleep. It should not be doing the things to her it was right now, heat coiling in her belly, nerves on fire, responding to every light and innocent touch that happened between them, feeling like she was an infernos about to burn out from the inside. Why did he such a power over her, simply because he had foregone his razor for a couple days? He looked far too appealing, far too good and she had to restrain herself from dragging him off to a secluded closet where she could have her way with him.

Of course, she certainly wasn't complaining when he kissed his way down her neck and the stubble hit slightly against the sensitive spot her had just marked with his mouth, causing her to gasp intensely and push herself into him, push her body into his, begging for more. It turned her skin slightly pink as he marked her all over, scratching and rubbing at her in a way that only heightened her awareness. She hated beards, but damn him, this wasn't painful or stupid looking. This was nothing but sexy, nothing but pure attraction that coiled in the juncture between her thighs when he struck a little harshly at the place where he had sucked at her pulse point.

And it became a little much when he was below her, and the stubble struck her once more, and then, then she was flying and falling all at the same time, then she was fire and water and ground and air and everything and nothing at once, the world such heavily saturated with stars that she thought this is was the beginnings of galaxies looked like. But she also loved to trace her fingers over it and lay her cheek against it, tracing her fingers over the rougher jawline as he slept next to her. It also made her a little sad, because it reminded her of the time that had gone past, and sometimes she wanted nothing more than to go back to when nightmares didn't grasp them at night and she didn't sleep with a knife underneath her pillow. It's also one of her favorite things. It reminds her off how much they've grown up, how old they are not.

It reminds her of how much they've survived, and how much more they can still take together.

 **Ok, so I don't know if any of you guys know what a huge fan I am of the TV show** **Stitchers** **, because I am. I am also complete trash for Cameron Goodkin, and since Kyle Harris (the actor who portrays the character) portrays** **him with stubble in this upcoming season, I just couldn't. I love stubble, it's one of the things I find most attractive about men, and I couldn't see him like that on the screen and not write a oneshot about Percy and Annabeth. Definitely leaning towards M in this shot, more and more will be like that in the future. Ugh, you guys have no idea how ready I am for season 3. Based on the promo that aired today, I have hopes that maybe my OTP will become canon. A girl can dream, right? Anyways, be sure to follow me on tumblr princsslydia!**


	12. Warmth

The first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of her is warmth. Pure, piercing warmth that spreads through his body as she hugs him, tightly, tighter than what should be allowed. She wipes away the tears that burst from his eyes and traces her fingers over his face, like she can't believe he's back, and she's waited, oh she's waited for her baby to be back for so long she no longer has any words to say. And he has missed her, oh he has missed her so that for a while, they just stand there and hold each other, and for the first time in a very long time, he feels his soul settle, finally at peace.

She has sacrificed everything for him. She has been more than a mother to him, she is everything that is good in the world with a little bit of rebellion thrown in. sometimes he wonders who's the more brave of his parents, and there's really no question. When it boils down to it, it's always his mother he comes back to. He loves his father, he's pretty sure of it, but there's no question in his mind that when he's asked for the real hero of his life, it would be his mother. The woman who stood up against his stepfather, the woman who defied gods and monsters and mystic powers to fight for him, the woman who was strong enough to live her own life.

He is everything to her. How can he not be? From the second she had held him in her arms, from the second she saw those eyes look up at her, hell, even from the second she felt him there in her body, her life has been for him. She knew she would do anything to protect him, give up anything to keep him safe, especially if that meant her own happiness was gone. But soon, she realizes, her baby needs to find his own way. He needs to make mistakes and grow up, so he can be a good man (what she doesn't realize is that most of his character has come from her). But she know that when he grows up, and starts maug his own path, that it's ok for her to make her own as well. That she can let him spread his wings, but always, always know that he is ever welcome with her.

* * *

Unfortunately for her, she can't do this. Her classmates around her chit chat about mundane and inane things, the sound of scissors against construction paper and markers scratching reaching her ears from all directions. Her hands trembled as she grasped the sheet of hot pin paper, and a sort of roaring sound filled her heart as she stared at the words. _My mother is_. That was just the thing. She does not know what her mother is like. She does not know who her mother is. All of the people around her, they know their mother so well, love her to pieces, kiss her goodnight before she tucks them into bed, has fallen asleep to the sound of her voice as she sings them a lullaby or reads them a story. She has never known that. She wonders if she ever will.

She wipes away the tears that have threatened to spring from her eyes, making it look like she is completely, utterly fine. This is a lie. Of course, how could she have been foolish enough to ever assume that a goddess, one with more than enough children, would have the time to see her? Her, a skinny little runt of a demigod would have never piqued the interest of such an all powerful god. It was sooner now that she learned this, because she knows how crappy the gods are at being parents. She knows that they don't care much for her children, and naively, she had believed that her mother would. The space around her heart, always open for love by that one person, soon hardens into stone and ice, soo closes itself off from the world, soon is hollow and empty.

The second she breaks down, sobbing on the kitchen floor, screaming from the nightmares that had taken her while she had napped, the other woman is there. The only person in the world who had even come close to anything resembling a mother cradles her while she shakes, the nightmares never stop, and she doesn't tell him this, but they prey on her during the day. They prey on her and attack her and feed on the little giving soul she has left. But the older woman holds her, whispers comforting phrases into her ear and presses kisses to her forehead, like her mother was supposed to. She had told him time and time again he takes his mother for granted, that he doesn't know how amazing it is to have a mother unless you've never had one. She loves her the way she's supposed to love her mother. And yet the goddess had never been there for her like this, has never been present during the little moments that make up more of a relationship that what can be said. And like him, she feels the warmth coming from her body as the woman hugs her, as finally, _finally_ , that little cold, closed off piece of her heart melts, just a little, and starts to crack open.

* * *

 **Happy Mother's Day! Follow me on tumblr princsslydia!**


	13. silence is more beautiful than sound

Percy, Annabeth, blood, and waves

i.

There are three things about her laugh that he likes. One, that it makes him feel free. It makes him feel like the sky is just a construct and that time itself is something thought of by humans, that impossible things are possible and that life itself is more than just a piece in a big story, that he is something more than a tiny speck and that they are destined for something else. Two, that it warms him in a way fire never can. He'd always wondered about that, why fire warmed but never _warmed_ , not in the way sunshine could. Not in the way her laugh could. Three, her laugh reminds him of all he is fighting for, It has become scarce and rare after hell. It has become precious, harder to seek out than a bright moon in the sky during the day. He will spill all the blood he needs to get that laugh back.

 _ii._

His voice, she feels, comforts her in the way hot chocolate and warm blankets do. In the way a warm hug or a cool popsicle on a hot summer day does. It spreads from her heart, inside and out, and she thinks that if they had met over the phone, she would have fallen in love with just his voice, no problem. It wouldn't have been too hard, just a few hours of listening to him talk, not really listening to his words but to his voice, low and rumbling, of the feeling it brings. Of the way his voice slips over her in its cadence, how it makes her feel grounded and safe and free and beautiful and a million other things all at the same time. She can hear every single emotion in the world in his voice. She thinks his voice might be her favorite thing in the entire world. She think his voice might be the death of her. She thinks she's ok with that.

 _iii._

The sobbing is what cuts through him. When he finds her on deck, quiet sobs that leak from her, because she's trying so _hard_ to keep them contained but they've reached the point where all she needs to do is yell and scream and a million different things are just bubbling inside of him and he can't oh he can't he can't he can't hear her like this and the pain is too much and how is this in anyway fair do any of them and oh god he doesn't know. How is it fair that every time they think they're ok, every time they think they're just safe that the nightmare must return, and with them the sobs. She turns to him, burying her head in his chest and he holds her, holds her the best he can because he's scared of her breaking, of shattering into a million pieces and all they can do is attempt to hold of broken piece of each other together.

 _iv._

His anger, his anger is personified when they yell. His anger at the gods and at the entire world is personified in everything and when she yells back, it is like they are two disasters hurtling towards each other, broken pieces with jagged edges cutting and slicing, and murdering her. Oh this life is killing her, stripping him as well, strpping him of happiness and joy and she sees it in the way he yells, the way he rages against her and the world. He yells and yells and yells and oh god sometimes she loves him and then other times she wants to kill him and right now all she wants to do is free herself from this nightmare but he's so so angry and he knows it's not good but he also knows it's how it works for him.

 _v._

The screams never stop.


	14. mirror mirror, on the wall

"There's only so much of that Bloody Mary you can drink, you know."

I groaned, tipping back the bottle and gulping more of the liquid down my throat. Once again, I felt my gaze turn dizzy, and for lack of a better support system, I decided to lie down, staring up at the ceiling as it starts to spin.

"You know, Jackson, I still hold my liquor better than you." Percy's been down for the count soon after we started, murmuring nonsense and smiles gracing his lips at odd intervals.

"Is that what we're calling it now?" I smiled, showing perfectly white teeth and a pair of sharp fangs.

"Well, it's not the expensive stuff. Really just something from a girl named Mary, type A." Percy wrinkled his nose in disgust. It's well known among our kind that type A is the least desirable. After all, the rarer the blood, the better it usually tastes. But we make do. It's been about 50 years since we made peace with the humans, but I've been around for 2500, and still haven't been able to figure out why they haven't wiped us out. I guess it's because we can survive on animal blood, if need be, and the fact that we only need a liter of blood day, not much at all. Well, I guess it is, for those who aren't like us. But still, we make do. Plus, everyone knows human tastes the best.

I finished off the bottle, running my tongue over my lips to catch a bit of the excess liquid. Although type A isn't very desirable, it's also the kind that gets you drunk the fastest, and after both of us having consumed a fair amount of blood, (5 bottles each), we're both fairly tipsy and have our inhibitions lowered. Vampires can't get drunk on alcohol, our body metabolizes it too fast. We can, however, get drunk off of blood. It's the equivalent of alcohol to us, if some humans consumed alcohol all day. And according to reports from moles in the human community, they do.

I sighed, and rubbed a hand over my face. I wish I knew what I looked like. Being a born vampire, I have no recognition of my face, and I don't show up in photos, mirrors, windows, nothing. I don't know what I look like, and frankly, I feel ridiculous. I've been a vampire from the moment my mother gave birth to me, her also being one too. Percy and I have also known each other for 2500 years, since we were born (my father and his mother were good friends), but we have eternity, so it doesn't seem like very long. Yet we know everything about each other there is to know.

"The humans are bothering me again," Percy muttered, clearly drunk. "I don't like the way most of them smell. They smell weird." I chuckled, pushing myself up and looking at his crestfallen expression. "I'm serious, Annabeth. They're weirdos."

"Says the undead, mythical being." I joked, scooting next to him and laying down, so we were side-by-side. I linked my fingers through his and leaned my head against his shoulder. Percy had always been a constant in my life, a rock, and although he doesn't have a heartbeat, it's nice to pretend he has one, at least once in awhile.

"Annie, I'm bored," he complained, pouting. I resisted the urge to kiss the pout off his face and sighed instead. It's too hard for me to think, too busy and complicated and not enough fresh air. I'm tired. I want to go to sleep.

"We could play a game," I suggested. Percy's face lit up like a child on Christmas morning, and I chuckled. "I'll go first. We'll do a question game. I'll ask you one and you'll answer. Then you'll do the same to me." He nodded. "Ok. First question. Favorite place we've been?"

"The Caribbean," he answered instantly. I raised an eyebrow. Percy's a vampire, he can't be out in the sun, for too long at least. He saw my expression, and shrugged sheepishly. "What? I liked the color of the water, and at least, the beach at nighttime was amazing. You?"

I played with my hair with my other hand, staring up at the ceiling. "Umm, I'm thinking the time we were pirates in the South China Sea at the time of the Black Plague. We really avoided a lot of that nonsense superstition. It was nice, looting and pillaging. Plus, I know how much _you_ loved being on the sea." I nudged Percy's shoulder, and turned my head to see the sheepish smile break out over his face.

"It was amazing."

"Favorite famous person we met?" I asked him. He pursed his lips, and scrunched his nose, like he did when he's thinking too hard. He looked entirely too adorable and distracting like this, so I looked away back at the ceiling.

"Remember that weird dude with the mustache and the cane? I think he was Teddy Roosevelt. Guy was a fighter, goddamn. I, the immortal being, got freaked out around him. What about you?"

"Oh, remember when we were pirates in China, our captain was this super scary Chinese lady with super dark eyes and dark hair."

"No," Percy admitted. "But we meet so many people it's hard to keep track of them all."

"Oh. Well, her name was Ching Shih. Madam Ching. She was a badass. I'd like to be like her." I could feel my tongue loosening, inhibitions lowering due to the blood. "Do you think I'm a badass, Percy?" He laughed brightly.

"Sure, Annie. Not sure what you're like in a fight anymore, since you used to be really good, but we don't fight anymore. But you're still a badass in every other way possible."

"Really, Seaweed Brain?" I pushed myself to my feet, albeit drunkenly, and swayed, gripping the couch to steady myself. "Come fight me and let's find out."

Percy laughed. "You're only gonna hurt yourself, Wise Girl. I mean, as much as you can hurt yourself. I'm not gonna fight you until you're sober. I'm not sober."

"No!" I stomped my foot like a little, kid and crossed my arms. "Come onnnnnnn." I sang. "Fight me, please Perce?" I attempted to make my eyes like baby seals, the ones Percy used whenever he wanted me to give into his demands. It worked pretty well, unfortunately, and was _horrible_ for my sanity.

"Annieeeee. We're not gonna fight right now. I'm too lazy to get up. Please sit down? Please?" Percy then turned those damn green eyes on me, and I crumbled.

I pouted, but sat back down. I stared at my best friend, and a thought formed in my head. "Fine." I smirked. It took a second for Percy to realize that the look in my eyes was anything by innocent, but by the time he had opened his mouth, I had already launched myself at him, arms outstretched. I knocked Percy to the ground, fingers working at his sides. A peal of laughter escaped him as I straddled him, tickling his body.

"Anna-Anna-" he attempted to get out, between giant gasps of air. I was relentless, constantly moving my hands so that he couldn't get a hold of them. His entire body was shaking with laughter, partly from my tickling, and partly, I realized, from the fact that I was laughing along with him. He suddenly got enough control over his arms, probably from the fact that my tickling had slowed down from looking at his handsome face, made only more handsome split into a smile, and in a smooth move, flipped us over so I was underneath him, and proceeded to attack me relentlessly.

I suddenly burst out into laughter as Percy's fingers rubbed at my skin, tickling me. Not fair, damn him. He knew I was crazy ticklish and extremely sensitive at my ribs "Pe-Perce-" I managed to gasp out, before bursting out into laughter once more. I gasped, trying to take in some air as he continued to tickled me, showing no mercy.

"I. Hate. You." I gasped, trying to wiggle away from him for some sort of reprieve. He grinned at me, the dorky, lopsided, beautiful smile he knew I loved, and slowed down the slightest, so I could breathe a little bit.

"No you don't." I mock-glared at his as he finally ceased his tickling and moved off of me, letting me breathe once more. I took large gulps of air as he patted my back, my sides aching from laughing so hard. I was used to it. Every moment with Percy was an adventure. I had the memories to attest to that.

He picked up the Bloody Mary bottle and took a swig, eyes glazing over a little bit. I rested my head on his shoulder, and the silence in the apartment was comforting. That was the thing about Percy and I, after spending centuries together, we didn't need to fill the space between us with pointless babble, although it was perfectly nice to talk to him. We knew when to be quiet with one another and when to speak. We sat in silence for what felt like an hour, his hand stroking my hair, one of my arms wrapped around his waist, looking at the skyline through the balcony doors leading from the living room to the balcony. New York was beautiful.

His arms brushed mine as he set down the bottle, rough skin suddenly rubbing against his toned arm. He turned to look at my arm, the raised skin from the scar there white, standing out against my tanned skin tone. (if you wanna know how we were tanned and vampires, don't ask me. The universe is weird man) "Tell me again, how you got this scar," he said softly, fingers rubbing over and sending an electric current through my body.

I raised my eyebrows. "Uh, in case you forgot, Seaweed Brain, you were there. You know how."

He sighed. "I know, I know. But please, just tell me." I sighed. I must have been more drunk than I thought, because otherwise I would have never agreed to tell him this.

"It was really early, we were actually sixteen, back in Ancient Rome." I didn't have to think about any of the details of this story. It had replayed in my mind nearly every day for two millennia. "Uh, you and I were fighting in a war with Rome, I can't remember which one." Everything besides that moment was fuzzy. "We were surrounded by a legion of Roman warriors guarding us, but we were also being attacked at all sides from the opposing side. You had your armor guarding you, but you weren't fully developed as a vampire yet. You weren't impervious. Neither was I. Your back was turned and..." Here I stopped, getting choked up more easily than usual (again, the blood) but choked down my tears. "I saw a boy dressed in furs run behind you at the very last second, and he was holding a knife on it. It looked really weird, green instead of silver, but he was aiming for your back, the small point where you didn't have any armor on because you got the last pick."

I took another deep breath and continued on. "I don't know what it was. I still can't explain it, and I'm not gonna try. All I felt was that really deep in my heart, my soul, somewhere, you were in terrible danger. That something awful was going to happen if I didn't do something. I threw myself in front of the knife. It sliced me here, pretty badly." Percy's fingers touched mine as they traced over the scar, white skin raise. "I don't know what happened after that. I nearly blacked out from the pain. All I can remember is that you called your horse to come and get me to the medic tent immediately, and then the whistle blew, signalling sundown. The enemy retreated, and you and were left sitting in the tent."

"There was poison on the blade, but the medic managed to stop it before it could hurt me. Two years later, you and I became impervious. I've been alright ever since." I finished, staring at the ceiling, the floor, the bottle, anywhere but my best friend. I was scared to look at his face. I ripped the bottle from his dangling left hand and downed it, before getting up and going to the kitchen to open another one.

"You forgot something." Percy said, so softly that I barely caught it. I moved back into my previous position, except just a little further away, so I could hear him better.

"What?" I breathed.

"You forgot something," he repeated, looking up at me. Those green eyes locked onto my own, and if this wasn't Percy, if he wasn't such an integral part of me, I might have felt apprehensive. Instead, I simply waited. "I don't know if you remember this, Annabeth. I was sitting with you, you were lying on one of the bed rolls they had in the tent. You looked so pale, and it was really hard to breath right there. I _hated_ it. You looked sickly and wrong and it hurt, god dammit you were the one who took the knife but you don't know how much it _hurt_ to see you like that." He stopped, moving his hand down so it was no longer tracing the scare but instead loosely wrapped around mine. His finger rubbed circles onto my palm and pulled the bottle from me, taking a long gulp.

He traced the condensation on the bottle and looked up, meeting my eyes. "I told myself that you had taken that knife for me, and you knew that you weren't protected. You were fully aware that you would've died. But you did it anyways. I swore that I would protect you, at all costs. It didn't matter what was going to happen to me. I needed to be like you. You, Annabeth Chase, are a badass. And you're a hero."

"Percy," I said softly, watching him. My heart swelled at this, and although I had heard him, and he told me this before, something about the way he said it this time, no guard up, all emotions bared, touched me deeply.

He laughed bitterly. "I'm pathetic. It really was for selfish reasons. I didn't know what I would do to myself if I ever lost you. I couldn't handle seeing you like that again, on the brink of death, injured, sickly. You mean more than the world to me, Annabeth. There is nothing I would not do for you, and I know there is nothing you would not do for me."

"You are my best friend, Percy." I said, watching him. "We protect each other, and that's what we've been doing for the past millennia. Do not pretend that it was your fault I took that knife. Do not pretend that you failed in protecting me. You couldn't have changed my mind if you tried. I took that knife for you then, I would take that knife for you now. If I lost my strength this second, i would still take that knife for you. If someone told me you would going to die tomorrow and there was no point, I would still take that knife for you. And you would do the same for me. Please, don't blame yourself."

I had never said this before. Weird, keeping it in for over 2000 years. But I guess I didn't even really know it until now. "It's you and me, against the world. That's the way it's always been."

I didn't even realize I was smiling until Percy sent a blinding smile towards my way, wrapping his arms around me. "Wise Girl, you're actually the best." I laughed. Drunk me was really open with her emotions.

"Hey, you were serious when you said you would do anything for me, right?" I asked him, suddenly nervous. I started fiddling with my nails, picking at the polish. I grabbed the bottle. I was ridiculously drunk, but I needed the courage. This was difficult, a question that had been burning up in me for as long as I could remember.

His eyes furrowed. "Of course."

My voice seemed unnaturally small as I faced him and asked, "Percy? What do I look like?"

His raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Well," he said dryly, "I wasn't expecting that." I shot him a glare and he raised his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. Don't worry. I'll be honest."

"The only thing I know is that I have blonde hair and grey eyes. I don't know, Percy. It's so weird that I don't even know my own reflection. It's like there's something missing."

"Well," he began, "you're right. You have blonde hair and grey eyes. But there's so much more than that. You have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen, and they change color because of what you feel. When you're annoyed with me, but not mad, they look exactly like melting mercury. When you're happy, they look like the sky filled with clouds. When you're ecstatic, they look exactly like silver. And when you're really, _really_ angry, they look exactly like the sky before a thunderstorm, before it cracks open. They're beautiful." I blushed, but her continued on. "Your smile is really pretty, Wise Girl. I consider myself the only one able to see all the different smiles you give me, but all of them make you look pretty." He took a sip and continued. "My favorite is the one you get after we complete an adventure."

"Your hair is stupidly soft, like sometimes I wanna snuggle next to you and bury my face in your hair because it's so pretty. You look like a princess, with the curls and everything. Your skin is really soft too, and your nose is so pretty, Annabeth. Your face is really pretty." Percy, at this point, seemed to be rambling, like he didn't even know what he was saying. "You have the scariest glare in the history of the world, but when you're happy and you blush it's so pretty and your cheeks, right here," he touched my cheekbones, "turn pink and it's so pretty. Like that." He sent me a blinding smile; apparently now I was blushing uncontrollably.

"Thanks Percy." I muttered, cheeks still on fire.

"What about me?" he said, eyes transfixed on my face. I felt my blush intensify under his direct gaze. "What do I look like?"

I nearly swallowed my tongue when he asked that, but he had been so honest with me. I might have been tipsy, and him as well, but we were both only made more honest when we were drunk. Plus, our bodies metabolized blood quickly, not quick enough so we couldn't get drunk, but quick enough that in two hours, I would be sober again.

"Percy…" I trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "You said that I have the prettiest eyes you've ever seen. You have beautiful eyes. Usually, when you're surrounded by water, they take on the color of the water you're around; they looked almost blue at the Caribbean and almost black at France. But when we're not around water, they're sea green, the exact color of Mediterranean sea foam as it splashes against the rocks. Whenever you're happy to see me, you look like I hung the world and it makes me feel like I'm the best person in the world. Whenever you're angry, your eyes turn so dark and hard that I get scared for you sometimes. You've never looked at me like that, though. Never with pure anger. And whenever you want something from me, you play the baby seal eyes. It's only because I've known you for so long that I'm immune to it, and even then, only to a certain extent."

"Your smile is one of my favorite things to see, the special lopsided one that you know I adore." I blushed so hard I was afraid I resembled a fire hydrant. "You give me that smile and it's one of the best feelings in the world. Not to mention you have a beautiful jawline, and your skin is tanned and makes you look unfairly handsome. Your hair is completely uncontrollable and soft and I love it and, and sometimes I really want to run my hands through it. And I like to fall asleep on the couch with you because you have really strong arms and they feel really nice around me and I've never felt safer than next to you."

Percy stared at me, and I looked down at the ground. _Shit._ Had I just ruined my friendship because all of my feelings had come spilling out in these past few hours? I mean, yeah, I wanted to kiss him and be with him and love him, even though I already had the last thing checked off, but I couldn't lose my friendship with him over anything. An eternity of being his friend was better than an eternity without him.

"You don't know how badly I want to kiss you right now." He muttered, tipping his forehead forward so it rested on mine. His fingers traced over my cheeks, and my breath caught.

"What-what did you just say?" I breathed, not believing that he had meant what he just said.

"I want to kiss you. I've wanted to kiss you for over two thousand five hundred years. I've wanted to kiss you since before you took that knife for me. I've been in love with you from before you took that knife for me. I've loved you for what feels like forever. It's been _forever_." He grabbed my face in his hands and traced over it reverently, drinking in my features.

"Percy-" I didn't know what to say. "I-I love you. I have loved you for as long as you have loved me. I can't remember when I didn't love you. You're a part of me, Seaweed Brain." I laughed brightly, throwing my arms around him and hugging him tightly. "Us against the world, right?

He laughed. "Right. I can't wait to kiss you after we sober up."

I pulled back, my eyes twinkling. "What, not now?"

He grinned and tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. "No. If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right. After all, we've been waiting thousands of years. I want the first time I kiss you to be absolutely perfect."

"It'll be perfect because I'm with you, Seaweed Brain," I whispered, but I conceded to his request. "But you're right. We'll wait." Percy wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a tight hug, burying his face into my neck.

"After all, we do have eternity."

* * *

Hey guys! Make sure to review and respond, and check me out at my tumblr, princsslydia! Thank everyone!


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